The Fall of Hogwarts
by Aurelius Dawns
Summary: In Harry Potter's sixth year, a man named Marcus Aurelius Butler is hired to be the Hogwarts substitute teacher. The dignified old teacher finds he has something to teach to the young savior...
1. The Room Personification Charm

**Chapter I: The Room-Personification Charm**

At the beginning there is a house. This is not a large but cramped house, occupied by a large family, struggling for every meal, nor a nice, clean house, its floorboards positively sagging under the burden of being as normal as possible. Although it didn't quite qualify as a magnificent mansion, it certainly came close. Looking at the house, one would have speculated that someone very rich lived in that house, and upon approach would have speculated further that someone very lazy who was also very rich lived in that house. The first assumption was correct. The second was very close to being correct.

Inside this house were several, as may be expected, rooms. The largest of these occupied the entire third floor, and it was the library. Bookshelves lined the walls, and the books that didn't fit on those were stacked, often precariously, in random locations around the room. Many of these books hadn't been touched in generations and should have crumbled to dust long ago, but the owners of this house had always liked their books, and so most were in remarkably good shape.  
Stuffed into a corner both furthest away from the windows and the stairs, a significant trek across creaky wood and not for those who had ever been afraid of a floor falling out from under them,  
was a small gap in between two of the newer, nicer, bookshelves. In the gap was probably a desk.  
It was difficult to be sure, because whatever it was covered with mountains of opened books,  
papers, and soda cans. At the peak of the mountain, on top of an old, dusty copy of Alice's Incantations lay, rather conspicuously, an open letter, complete with the three precise folds that marked how someone very neat had mailed it. The letter was marked with a peculiar multicolored seal, complete with some clever, inspirational phrase in Latin and four animals that looked to be a lion, a badger, an eagle, and a snake. Clean, almost automatic script decorated the white background with precise words:

_Mr. Marcus Aurelius Butler,_

_We have received your previous owl informing us of your willingness to take over the open post of Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher. We have, however, already located a professor to fulfill those duties. However, the changing political climate in our area will make necessary the absences of several teachers at various points during the year. As such, we would welcome you joining us to substitute during those periods in which our current teachers are unavailable to teach during their periods. Standard teaching wages and benefits will be provided, as well as a permanent intercontinental Floo connection to your home in Washington._

_Unfortunately, teaching at Hogwarts requires certain unusual measures to be adopted. I will be arriving with Professor Flitwick upon receipt of your confirmation owl to lay certain protection charms upon your home and yourself. We have enclosed a list of prohibited substances that make one more susceptible to detection and remote harm._

_Thank you for your interest and for the quality teaching that you will provide in the upcoming year.  
Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Two floors below, the writer and receiver of this letter sat at opposite ends of a square table talking.

Minerva, Marcus reflected, didn't seem to ever let that severe expression go away. He preferred smiling himself, but it seemed that Minerva really was the stereotypical severe schoolteacher. Marcus resolved immediately to break Minerva's shell by the end of the year. But for now, he'd have to deal with some more practical issues. "Where is this Professor Flitwick,  
anyway?"

"He's been held up." Marcus doubted that she really had to be this cryptic.

"Miss McGonagall, I have the highest level of security clearance in the Wizardry Office.  
Believe me, I know all about your order." Minerva opened her mouth, but he cut her off. "I can understand if you don't want to send details of the organization through the Owl Post, especially the intercontinental one, but if you were going to try hiring me to work as a teacher at Hogwarts while keeping me in the dark about the Order of the Phoenix and your role in it, I am afraid you have gotten the wrong idea."

"Mister Butler." Minerva paused as she stood. "You will kindly remember that the post you have agreed to work in places you directly subordinate to myself, and that not only are you not the only person who would be willing to take on your position, your position isn't actually necessary."

Marcus backtracked hurriedly, wondering why he'd tried that on a woman who was to severity as a pumpkin was to orange. "Ah...I apologize, of course. What I meant was that I am, as I hope everyone on your staff is, a person with certain scruples. One of my own is that I don't work with people I don't trust." He paused, and when Minerva's only reaction was a look of appraisal - at least, he thought it was appraisal, being that it was difficult to tell what she was feeling through that mask - he continued quickly. "You can understand that I would have a hard time trusting someone who would intentionally withhold information from me?"

"Of course." She paused, and then stiffly settled back into her seat. "Shall we proceed?"

Marcus nodded. It was plain that this woman had become adept at hiding information she didn't want known, and he doubted he would get anything she didn't volunteer today.

Minerva pushed her spectacles even further up her nose while looking down at a small sheet of notes. "Ah, right. What exactly are you doing in America?"

Marcus frowned. "I told you already. I do part-time work for the DARPA Wizardry Off-"

"No, no. You misunderstood me."

It took only a second for Marcus to grasp her meaning. America was the boondocks of the wizarding world; few wizards with means chose to live there, rather than in Europe where all the action was. "My mother died only a few months ago. She'd been sick for some time, and I stayed here to oversee her care."

A trace of softness seemed to come into Minerva's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You asked because you didn't know. There's nothing to apologize for. Were there any other questions?"

"Ah, yes. Just a few. Do you have any objections to any of the prohibited substances enclosed before?"

"Actually, I did have one." He almost chuckled when Minerva's eyebrows rose. "I'm afraid I'm rather accustomed to my soda - ah, pop - and I don't think I'd be able to just give up caffeine."

Minerva nodded. "That shouldn't be a problem. Caffeine is one of the more minor substances. I will have to confirm that with Severus, though."

"Severus?"

"Severus Snape. He's the Potions Master, and was responsible for compiling the list."

"All right. Is that all?"

"We will be using the following protective spells on your home, and most will also be present on Hogwarts grounds. They are all mandatory. The Anti-Disapparation Jinx, the Dementor-Banishing Variant, the Bat-Bogey Hex, targeted by your command, of course,  
Colloportus, responsive only to your touch, the Defensive Charm, the Disillusionment Charm, the Impediment Curse, targeted by your command, Incarcerous, targeted against any visitors we have not cleared, the Scry Protection Charm, a Repelling Charm for explosives, a -"

"I think I get the picture. That will be fine."

"We also provide the option that you place your house under the Fidelius Charm, with any other staff member as Secret-Keeper, if they are willing."

"That will not be necessary."

"Very well. Because Professor Flitwick is busy at the moment, and the casting of all these charms would take one person several hours, I shall return when there is more time. Were there any questions?"

"Who's the new Defense teacher?" Marcus asked bluntly. He was rapidly tiring of this conversation and wanted his question answered without any ado.

"William Weasley will be teaching that class this year."

Marcus shrugged, not recognizing the name. "All right. That's all."

While this office belonged, for a time, to the same man as the previously explored library,  
its appearance was vastly different. But for a few books and several rolls of parchment scattered untidily either on the floor or one of the several chairs, the entire office carried with a prevailing sense of being too clean. The smell was off, first of all, having the peculiar aftertaste that one too many Scourgefy spells could leave in the air - although, Marcus reflected, it was odd that it would have that smell when it was the house elves cleaning up, and they would have used their own magic, rather than the human wand magic. Second was the light. Any wizard worth a Knut knew quite a bit about lighting. Severus, the depressing Potions Master Marcus had met only the day before, obviously knew his lighting. A dark personality deserved his dark room. And though Marcus considered himself somewhat more toward the light end on the personality scale, he would have preferred this room to be a few shades darker. But there was nothing to be done about it for now.

Marcus knew, of course, that not only was his mind wandering, he was avoiding the correct answer: it wasn't the look or the smell that kept the room from the way he wanted it to be; it was the feeling. His library had the 'untidy scholar' look, whereas this had more of a 'mindless bureaucrat' look. He could already tell he would be using the intercontinental Floo quite a bit.

"I'm afraid these offices take a little while to settle around their owners, but they do do it eventually." Marcus whirled around, chastising himself immediately for turning his back to the open door. He was relieved to recognize a kind, bearded face with a unique twinkle.

"Headmaster Dumbledore. I didn't see you come in."

The Headmaster smiled. "That is quite plain, Marcus. But you haven't been a student in many years. Please call me Albus."

"That will take a bit of getting used to. Ah... Would you like a seat? I can clean off a chair..."

"No, no. That won't be necessary. I just wanted to inform you that Hagrid will be somewhat busy when the train arrives from King's Cross, so you will be needed to assemble the first years as they depart the train."

The charms that adapted themselves to each professor's personality - the Room-  
Personification Charm, it was called - had been placed in every classroom and every other room intended for a professor's use, and, Marcus had discovered, in a much weaker form to the Head Students' rooms. It made sense that they hadn't been put into place in the dormitories or the common rooms - vastly different students could be in the different place, and should the charm become confused it could have polka-dotted effects. Much to Marcus's annoyance, the same headmaster who had decided to put this charm into place several hundred years before had decided to apply it in a vastly augmented fashion to the Professors' Lounge. When he was alone,  
or when only two or three teachers were present, his corner of the room was able to cultivate about the right sense for his own disposition.

But the charm displeased him for precisely this reason. It had lured him into the Professors' Lounge to do his reading on several separate nights, only to be irritated by its peculiarities. For one thing, its ability to adjust to a personality instantly, while pleasing for him,  
could be aggravating when a professor such as Severus walked in and all the candles in the room suddenly dimmed. And it did get confused, sometimes to the point that it automatically shut off, at any large gathering of the teachers in the room, as had happened when that accursed Poltergeist had discovered his existence and promptly raised hell.

But Marcus chided himself immediately. Though there were a few minor problems with the school - such as the infuriating students he would soon have to deal with - Marcus could not deny that it felt as if every effort was being made to satisfy his needs. For a moment his familiar paranoia kicked in, wondering if perhaps they weren't being too nice, but again he chided himself.  
This was Hogwarts, of course, the workplace of some of the most good hearted people in the world, and if that was not enough they were having some hiring difficulties at the moment and would have been in a rather difficult position had he chosen to leave.

The contemplations were interrupted by a sudden sensation of orderliness moving about in the room. He hadn't heard the door open, so he doubted that it was Minerva's entrance.  
In any case, the paint would have shaded itself more toward red had she been present. Instead,  
they seemed only to become more bland. Hesitating lazily, Marcus considered and then looked up,  
to see a rather boring ghost progressing toward a chair on the other side of the room. The ghost wore the familiar robes of a Hogwarts professor, attire that he believed was unique to them.  
Nevertheless, Marcus decided that the ghost would be more comfortable if he did not interrupt the atmosphere, and returned to reading his book, comforted that the charm's alterations had not been too drastic.

An hour and a half later, Marcus had the distinct impression that what had originally been a coincidental common inspiration to catch up on some reading had become a test of wills between himself and the ghost. Though he was not quite sure what it was he would mean if he introduced himself to the ghost and inquired politely what he was reading, he felt that if he had not been addressed at this point it would be in his best interest not to begin a conversat-

"You are the professor who will be substituting for my colleagues?" Marcus could tell just by the voice what had made the walls blander. Nevertheless, he put on a smile.

"Yes. I'm Marcus Butler, Professor of Absolutely Nothing In Particular. You?"

The barest hint of a smile seemed to creep onto the ghost's face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "My name is Albernic Binns. I am the History of Magic Professor at this most distinguished institute." The unnecessary wordiness provoked a smile in Marcus, but he suppressed it as quickly as Albernic had hidden his.

"Is this something you do frequently, then?" Marcus inquired, plotting a tactic quickly.

"I confess that I am unsure about your precise meaning." The ghost paused. "If you mean,  
this quiet studying , then yes. I have been doing this for... it seems that I must have been doing this for at least a century, no, a century and a half at least since I lost my corporeal body. I am certain that I maintained this practice before that time."

"Er, right." At least that drawl would be his only trouble. "Well, would you happen to know offhand if any of the Roman emperors had wizarding ability?"

Albernic nodded. "Ah, yes. This is actually a point of interest for many European historians. Though the magical records did, of course, survive better than their corresponding Muggle counterparts, there is still rather little information to determine the culture and nature of life in the centuries surrounding 1 A.D. However, on your specific topic we can consider ourselves fortunate because much of what information we do have related to the emperor and the senatorial class. By comparison we have almost no information on the lower classes, who based on our records seemed to have been ignored by the senatorial class, meaning of course that they received no attention from anyone who can write. It is largely based on speculation that we have derived a vision of lower class Rome, which seems to have been primarily akin to the Muggle working class-"

"The emperors?" Though Marcus was surprised to find that the drawl could actually be quite interesting - well, tolerable anyway - he had been curious about this point and had been researching it for quite some time and would have preferred to move on to the further stages of his research.

"Right. I apologize. A surprisingly small number of Roman emperors turned out to be wizards. It is currently our belief that some element of the diet of an emperor seems to have formed an accidental potion that suppresses magical ability. No one would have noticed such a mistake because no one was aware that anything untoward was happening. There is a small group of historians which I am not a part of that claim that - wait. Before I continue with this particular strand of storyline, you must understand that I am not joking." Marcus nodded solemnly,  
preparing himself for the worst. "There is a small group of historians, which I am most certainly not a part of, which claim that the emperors were actually goblins transfigured to appear to be particularly majestic humans."

At Marcus's snort, Albernic nodded. "I assure you that most of the rest of us find it equally humorous. Nevertheless, it is important to note that they have a small degree of evidence to back up their claim. In any case, magical talent manifested itself in only two imperial bloodlines: the first was the bloodline of Julius Caesar. It does not appear to have manifested itself in any others of the Julio-Claudian line, which is sensible because there were no direct descendants of the first Caesar in that line. This magical ability, coincidentally, manifested itself only once in our recordings; it granted him the surge of constitution that allowed him to survive the first twenty stabs of the conspirators against his life.

"The second is the line of Marcus Aurelius -" again Albernic paused. "I do not suppose that-"

"He is my namesake, yes."

"Indeed. In any event, Marcus Aurelius manifested his magical talent in a way completely different from the method that chose Caesar. We believe that Aurelius accepted and trained his magical power in private but never revealed it to anyone. This is supported by several pages of additional writing in his work which are only visible to wizards and offer additional accounts along the same lines but including references to magic and wizardry. It is interesting that Aurelius specifically ordered his children to consume approximately the substances required to form the potion mentioned earlier; the conclusion we draw from this is that Aurelius was fully aware of the danger his son would be in the future to Rome but was for some reason compelled not to act directly on it; and instead suppressed his son's magical power in order to limit the damage he could do. The damage he dealt was still great, so Aurelius may have been unsuccessful in that endeavor."

"Well, thank you for that. It should be most useful."

"If I may inquire, useful for exactly what purpose?"

"Oh. I'm writing a book. Well, plann- no, well- no, researching some background for my planning for the eventual writing of a book I've been wanting to write for some time now."

"Most interesting." Marcus nodded at the sentiment from Albernic. "What is it called?"

Marcus hesitated. "I've been thinking of calling it _Meditations_."


	2. First Years!

Chapter 2 - First Years!

It was unusually cold for a September day, even allowing for the change in location from the American Southeast to England and for the particularly exposed conditions Marcus now stood in, far away from the cities he was used to. In fact, a Seer working for the Daily Prophet had predicted snow in October. Of course, had the Seer been wrong, the Prophet would simply have written a paragraph-long retraction that mumbled about the incoherence of prophecies and the difficulty required in getting a straight answer out of the sources of divination, or some other rubbish.

Marcus almost slapped himself. He had resolved not to allow himself to lose his American English, and already he was muttering about rubbish. Pretty soon, he expected, he would be interlacing his words with 'bloody's and 'prat's. And that appalling English personality too, which seemed to briefly consider feeling an emotion but finally decide not to, so that the slightest expression of anger could be regarded as far more displeasing than he had intended.

The old teacher snapped himself out of his thoughts, but it seemed he was simply too tired to focus his attention on a scene that wouldn't be interesting for another hour or so - of course he was required to wait here unless the train arrived early or there was some disaster he could respond to - an archaic school rule that Albus had declined to bend despite the well-reasoned arguments he had made against it. Marcus pushed a few of his grey hairs into more dignified positions atop his head. He had already gone to other lengths to improve his image for his first appearances in front of the students, carefully putting on his best expressions and rechecking the various differences in manners between the Muggle America he had lived in and the Wizarding England he had left so long ago.

So now here he was, with...forty-seven minutes to go before the train arrived, pacing and rearranging his hair. Of course, he was not the only one waiting for the train to arrive from King's Cross; several other teachers had also arrived, of whom he recognized only Albernicus and Severus. Two guards had been sent from the Ministry of Magic, named Shacklebolt and Dawlish,  
with a weird title with lots of vowels that Marcus could not quite remember. Nevertheless, their attitudes and grace assured him that anything untoward would be dealt with smoothly.

"A most pleasant day, is it not?" Marcus spun, looking for the speaker, who he was almost certain was Severus Snape. As soon as he located the man, who had been behind him and to his right, he began to chide himself o allowing his senses to deteriorate to the point that he was surprised so often.

"It is a little warm, but other than that, it is very pleasant."

Severus had the most unpleasant smile, Marcus noted. Even though he was smiling at the joke, it still appeared to be malicious. It barely deserved the word 'speculation' to think that the Potions Master had been nursing that smile, honing its icy deceptiveness, for years, possibly decades. From what he remembered, many Slytherin students learned the basics of those haughty expressions in their very first years. Here that thin smile was directed toward him - yet somehow,  
he felt instinctively, not at him - and then it parted as the teacher returned the joke. "And rather too much sun, I suppose." Marcus nodded at that, pretending to shield his eyes from the sun that was totally obscured behind heavy clouds. It seemed appropriate that the one time he was required to be outside at the time of sunset it would be obscured behind the ominous grey sky.

At that last he could only shrug. More of the incessant Hogwarts charms would be acting soon, and any spell to modify the weather - which would have brought a fine from the Ministry in any case - would interfere with the ones that ensured a clear night for the Welcoming Feast.  
Marcus suddenly visualized Minerva's disapproving glare as she lectured him for the thunderstorm that had "terrified the students during what was supposed to be a joyful occasion"  
As the image disappeared, he found himself sidetracked on that image. He doubted that there would be much joy at the occasion today.

He stopped himself as he realized that Severus was looking at him expectantly. A brief consideration of what had just happened revealed that he had stopped in the middle of a conversation, sidetracked by his own thoughts. He smiled apologetically: "I apologize. I fear I may still be a little groggy." That wouldn't quite do. It was now several hours into the afternoon,  
but he paused to see if maybe it had succeeded anyway. When the Potions Professor raised an eyebrow, Marcus improvised. "I'm afraid I studied rather later than I had intended last night, and as a result I missed lunch by two or three hours."

Severus nodded curtly, and Marcus realized that he was being too familiar with a man who was used to careful isolation from others. He would have to try a somewhat less invasive track if he wished to form a trust between the two. A moment's consideration suggested that the dry,  
almost silly humor would be an excellent opportunity. "I must say that you're looking particularly excited to be here, Professor."

Severus's icy smile returned, the mocking note in his voice growing stronger. "Of course.  
I wouldn't pass up an opportunity to see the Terrible Three."

Curiosity: "The Terrible Three?"

"Oh yes. You would not have heard. The Potter Boy is always accompanied by two friends of his, a Mister Weasley and a Miss Granger. Together, they seem to be responsible for most of the trouble that goes on in the school."

"Weasley? Isn't there a Weasley taking over the defense post?"

"Indeed. William Weasley is taking that post."

Marcus thought, saw an opening, and took it. "And there's no concern about favoritism?"

"Certain members of the staff were concerned, yes. The Headmaster refused to hear those concerns."

"That seems a little strange."

"When you work here for a little while, you will find that our Headmaster's tolerance for bending the rules seems to extend a little further with regards to certain famous individuals."

"Well," Marcus trailed off, thinking. It was important that they trust each other, and yet Marcus could see where that trust would go if he violated it so quickly by lying here. "Perhaps he does deserve a little leeway, considering what he must go through."

Black eyes narrowed, stared back at him, and Marcus suddenly realized the brilliant,  
calculating mind behind them. "I would think that what he must go through is precisely the reason why he can not be given any latitude."

"I see what you mean, but surely the boy must have some fun. We can't afford for him to win and then turn into another You-Know-Who, can we?"

"Professor Butler, I have come to know both Potter and the Dark Lord, and I can assure you there has never been any risk that Potter will turn out to be another Dark Lord."

"Why not?"

"For one thing, he lacks more than a small fraction of the power that the Dark Lord possesses." Marcus started to interrupt, but Severus spoke over him. "Oh, Potter could hold his own in a fight, but that is because he has trained all of his abilities toward such a conflict. On the other hand, the Dark Lord had never anticipated a duel against a single opponent as a significant threat, and has focused his powers in other aspects of the dark arts. Yet Potter, who has put all of his efforts into succeeding in a fight with the Dark Lord, would still be unable to defeat him in such a battle."

Marcus' own eyes narrowed at that thought, but he let them open as he suddenly realized that before too long he and Severus might be seeing who could squint their eyes the most.  
"Nevertheless, he could wreak a great deal of havoc, if he turned to the dark."

"While you are undoubtedly correct, the prospect of Potter turning 'to the dark', as you say, is impossible." Severus paused, seeming torn between continuing and halting. Marcus was about to prompt him when he continued on his own. "Potter has a capacity for love that has never been seen in any truly dark wizard. He is rather too softhearted to knowingly act cruelly, in any case."

"All right. I shall trust your word on that." He paused. Twenty-three minutes left. "Well, I assure you I had already resolved not to tolerate students who disrespect the rules. If what I've read of Mister Potter is correct, he may rather enjoy being treated like any other student." That felt like about the right tone for the master stroke; it was icy, faintly cynical, and witty. And it was wholeheartedly true. Of course, Severus would take it to mean something somewhat different from what Marcus had actually said, but no one could blame Marcus for the Potions Master's mistake.

Severus nodded. "I am pleased that the Headmaster has finally hired a teacher with that dedication. That Umbridge woman had a dedication, mind you, but she had an insufferable personality. I do hope I won't find yours to be just as displeasing, given time." And there it was,  
the offer, left unspoken, of course, to give it that time. Marcus had known he would not be able to form a friendship with such a cold man immediately; he would have to engage in a few cautious conversations, untrusting, before Severus finally accepted their friendship. Nevertheless, a little bit of work, and he would have a powerful new force on his side here. Combine that with Minerva...perhaps he should work on establishing friendly relationships with all the Heads of Houses. That did seem to be the thing to do.

Severus was looking at him oddly again, and Marcus realized he had slid into another reverie. "Sorry, sorry." He thought for a moment, discovered there were thirteen minutes remaining before the train arrived. "I'm afraid that my deepest fault may be that I think somewhat too much."

"If that truly is your deepest fault, I'm afraid you will not fit in well here." Marcus was immediately perplexed by this statement, and when he let it show on his face Severus continued.  
"The professors at Hogwarts tend to be a group of misfits. None of us is so normal as you make yourself out to be."

"Oh, I don't make myself out to be normal at all. I said my greatest fault, Professor, not my greatest abnormality." He heard the train's horn and smiled. "It seems the train has arrived a few minutes early. I fear I will be needed across the platform in a rather short time. We'll talk later?"

Severus nodded, his jaw clenched in a way that suggested he was carefully stopping it from gaping open. Marcus turned and walked over to the other side, wishing he could think of a tune so that he could start humming. He took several steps backward, thinking about the rush of students getting off the train, and then several more steps back to be safe. He saw the train begin to arrive, and then looked away as something else caught his eye. Shacklebolt had detached himself from his previous, well-camouflaged spot, and had taken up a different position several steps closer to the tracks, and closer, Marcus realized, to the students who would be following them around. He immediately noticed that Dawlish had taken up a similar position near the carriages waiting to carry the older students.

Finally, the train pulled in, and as the door opened Marcus stood up even straighter,  
warned himself to be more careful, and watched the first few students get off the bus. And then he began to call: "FIRST YEARS! FIRST YEARS OVER HERE!" He somehow made himself heard among the bustle of the disembarking students, and he saw a trickle of students separating themselves from the crowd and he began counting in his head, letting his shouts run on autopilot.  
There were six in this first group, plus another three over there, and those two geeks stumbling over their own feet trying to run towards them, and...he counted thirty-eight. Frowning, he counted again and this time found all forty. Shrugging, he turned. "Follow me, please."

He took out a match, struck it, and lit the lantern he had brought with him. "Watch your step, but not too closely. You'll be seeing Hogwarts any moment now." As he continued down the dark path, he couldn't help but smile at the appreciative "Ooh"s that came from behind him as he led them into site of the castle, standing beside the magnificent lake. Eleven boats, completely oarless, bobbed in the water beside the lake. "Four to a boat, now. Wouldn't want to annoy the giant squid." He smiled. Maybe, just maybe, he could handle being a teacher here. Marcus clambered into his own boat and turned, finding that a few students were somewhat hesitant about getting in a boat on a lake with a giant squid on it, but peer pressure reared its mighty head and they followed their classmates into the boats obediently. He smiled. "FORWARD!" And the boats moved forward, more smoothly than any boat Marcus had seen before. Hogwarts towered above them, above a magnificent cliff that he rather suspected would have been impossible to scale.

Marcus remembered something suddenly as the boats approached the cliff face. "Heads down!" The students obeyed quickly, thankfully just quickly enough, as they passed through an ivy curtain rather than smashing their heads against the stone cieling just a few inches above. But they passed into an underground harbor soon enough, and Marcus stepped out first. The new students did so too, and after a cursory inspection of their boats he led them to a massive door.  
He raised his hand and knocked, the sound much louder than he had expected, three times.

His mind briefly flashed back to some interesting fact he'd picked up somewhere - that the ceremony he was about to engage in had been dropped when Hagrid had been in charge of it,  
because the half-giant's accent and mannerisms made it difficult to maintain the composure of the ritual. But it had been brought back this year, as someone with a more refined voice had replaced Hagrid. "Who goes there?"

"Marcus Aurelius Butler, with guests."

"Why do you come?"

"I come to teach and to learn of the ways of wizards."

"What do you offer?"

"We come without gifts, asking for charity." There was a long pause, and Marcus felt the students tense up behind him. Finally, the doors opened, revealing Minerva, standing at the front of the magnificent Entrance Hall. Marcus continued, only a touch less formally. "Professor McGonagall, the first years."

"Thank you, Professor Butler. I will take them from here." She made sure the first years heard her with that, of course, but then quieted to a whisper. "Albus wants to see you in his office immediately." She turned back to the first years. "Come." And she led them, magnificently,  
through the Entrance Hall to be Sorted, leaving Marcus wondering what he'd screwed up now.  
Nevertheless, he proceeded quickly up to the Headmaster's office. He paused for a moment when he found the gargoyle to one side, leaving the staircase to his right wide open. He turned to look at the gargoyle.

"You're really alive, aren't you? Everyone thinks you're some statue, but I can tell.  
You're a real gargoyle." He smiled when the gargoyle didn't react and walked up the stairs.

Marcus slipped into the room to find five students sitting at chairs in front of Albus's desk.  
A few twinkling ornaments sat around the room, but it seemed to be primarily occupied with books now, an assortment of titles such as Powerful Charms and Enchantments and Hogwarts Code of Rules and Regulations, and Additional Material for Headmasters, Volume XVIIc.  
Marcus wondered for a moment at the difference between the room and what he had observed to be the Headmaster's personality, but he was forced back to the conversation when Dumbledore spoke: "Professor Butler. These are Ronald Weasley," indicating a tall, red-haired boy,  
"Hermione Granger," a shorter, brown-haired girl who struck him immediately as a geek,  
"Ginevra Weasley," a red-haired girl who was taller than Hermione but still seemed younger,  
"Neville Longbottom," a chubby, brown-haired boy who seemed somewhat self-conscious, "and Luna Lovegood," a blond-haired girl with a rather dreamy face. "Professor Butler, with the exception of Miss Lovegood, Harry Potter has been riding the Hogwarts Express with these students every year since he arrived. When he did not this year, they searched through the entire Hogwarts Express and did not find him." Dumbledore paused, and Marcus noted that he looked sad, his eyes no longer twinkling. "Marcus, you are the only teacher I can spare at the moment-"

"Sir?"

"Err, yes?"

"I am quite certain I saw Mister Potter getting off the Express."

Dumbledore said nothing for a moment. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Quite certain?"

"Yes. Sir, I may be from all the way out in America, but even to me Mister Potter's face is rather recognizable. I am certain that I saw him on the platform. If you would like, I can head down to the Great Hall and make sure..."

"No, no. That will not be necessary." Albus turned back to the students. "Please head back to the Great Hall. The feast will likely have started by now. If Harry is not present, send a student back up to me to tell me so, would you?" The five children filed out, wearing expressions with varying degrees of puzzlement. Albus looked back up at Marcus. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Ideas?"

"Yes. Why do you think he did it?"

"Sir, I don't know him."

"Well, even the people who know him best have trouble believing he did this, as you just saw. So I turn to you. You do rather have a gift for understanding people."

"I don't have any such gift, Headmaster. I'm just cynical."

Albus smiled at that, but persisted. "Why do you think he did it?"

Marcus paused to ponder it for a moment. "Well, sir, I see one explanation at the moment."

"Which is?"

"I suspect that Mister Potter feels that people are in more danger when they are close to him."

"What do you mean?"

"Sir, Sirius Black was Harry's godfather, and from what I understand loved Harry dearly.  
James and Lily Potter were Harry's parents, and the only relatives he's ever had who loved him.  
All of them died trying to protect him."

Albus inclined his head in realization. "So, in order to stop people from trying to protect him, he is trying to keep his friends away from him."

"Exactly." Marcus thought of something. "Oh shit."

"Language, Marcus!"

"Sorry, sir. But those students are going to go back to the Great Hall and they're going to sit next to Harry and try to talk to him."

"Yes?"

"And he's going to try to get them to go away." Marcus paused. "I suspect he will insult them. They are his friends. He knows how to hurt every single one of them. And I think he will do it, just to keep them away."

Albus frowned. "Frankly, Marcus, Harry has never been very much good without the help of his friends."

"I fear, Headmaster, that by the time we head down there to eat, Harry Potter will no longer have any friends."

A/N: I had originally planned for this chapter to cover two scenes besides this one, but this one took a chapter's length to write and I am trying to keep my chapters at a constant length. In a txt file,  
that's about 20 kb. In word, it comes to about 6-7 pages, but that's because my writing style is more prone to paragraphs of thought and description than to the incredibly dialogue-heavy stuff I usually see in fanfiction.  
The end of this story is not set - unlike most writers, I prefer not to work with a full outline,  
though I do have certain ideas of what events I want to happen. Because of this, I am not picky -  
if you come up with an idea or something you feel should happen in the future of this story, by all means tell me. If I like it and it fits with what I've already established, I'll use it and credit you with the idea.  
Anyone concerned that this story is being told from the perspective of an original character, I have several reassurances: first, Harry's perspective will be used in many scenes in the future - it has simply suited each scene I've had so far to be from Marcus's perspective. Second, I've taken extensive steps to prevent this character from being overcool - I assure you that my efforts to make him seem awesome at presentare purely in character for his capabilities. Future chapters will reveal many of his serious limitations Furthermore, those of you who read too far between the lines may find yourselves very confused as the story progresses.  
Review, please! 


	3. Ravenclaw

**Chapter 3: Ravenclaw**

Marcus Aurelius Butler carried with him the exhaustion that comes when someone spends years pouring all of their efforts into something, taking not nearly enough time for breaks. Of course, he refused to let anyone see how weary he really was, for it ruined his dignified expression. Nevertheless, today he had been totally free of activities, and aside from a brief visit to his American Manor, he had spent it all holed up in his office, finally getting in some time to work on that book of his. But he had reached a difficult point in his outline rather more quickly than he'd expected, and he'd have to owl an acquaintance in Austria about it. So here he was in the Owlery, wearing an old, faded t-shirt and similarly faded pants, his eyes sunken and his posture bent, attaching a letter to an old, brown owl. The bird flew off a moment later, and he turned around to discover Potter walking in.

Hastily, he backed into the ever-present shadows of the dimly lit room. It wouldn't do for a student to see a professor wearing such undignified attire. Of course, he should have known better than to try to hide from Potter, whose eyes were focused in an all-too familiar way, as if scanning every possible hiding spot before even walking into a room. Potter's wand was out as soon as his eyes passed over the spot where Marcus had hidden. "Who are you?"

Marcus chuckled lightly. "I'm Professor Butler, Mister Potter. You may have seen me hurrying into the Great Hall late?"

Potter nodded thoughtfully. "I do remember seeing you. What do you teach?"

"First, put your wand down, now." It came out even more snappishly than he had intended it to, and Potter's wand arm went down quickly. "I've been hired to substitute for teachers who are called away on business I daresay you know a little too much about. Furthermore, five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, and for pointing a wand at a professor, another fifteen points removed. And detention after lunch next Saturday, in my office. I'm in a good mood because it's the first weekend of the term, Mister Potter, or the punishment would have been far worse."

Potter's expression changed from suspicion to dismay. "That's not fair! I didn't know who-"

"Five more points removed for cheek. Would you like to try for ten?" Potter's mouth snapped shut. "Good. I see we'll get along fine."

He grinned cheerfully before leaving the Owlery, a gaping scar-faced Gryffindor standing behind him. He almost didn't notice the Headmaster standing in front of him, and he stopped hurriedly as he saw him. "Ah, Headmaster. I didn't see you there."

Marcus was growing deeply annoyed with that incessant twinkling in the old wizard's eyes, and yet he found that he was unwilling to attack the Headmaster about it. That long white hair hid many scars, Marcus realized, and all of them had been in the service of the side of good. He could be permitted his minor annoyances. "It is to be expected that you would not expect me, Marcus. There is little I would be doing up here. As it so happens, I wanted to talk to you. I was about to just send a message down to your office, but I also wanted to talk with Harry, and upon discovering that you and he were in the same place, I decided to take a little walk out of my own abode." Marcus nodded at that, but didn't speak. "In any case, I just wanted to inform you that Professor Flitwick will be indisposed for the next two days. Your skills will be required in his classes at those times." Marcus nodded again, and Albus passed him into the Owlery. Resisting his impulse to eavesdrop on what may have been a very important conversation, Marcus continued out, reminding himself to put on some decent robes before he spoke with Filius.

"Welcome to sixth year Charms." Marcus smiled at the thirty students arrayed in front of him. "But before we delve any further into that classroom material, allow me to introduce myself, as most of you do not know me. I am Professor Butler. I was hired to teach whenever professors were forced to be absent. For instance, because Professor Flitwick is indisposed today, I am teaching this class.

"Unfortunately," and here his smile became a grin, "I am not permitted to simply teach you whatever I wish or think most appropriate. Instead, I am following the notes of Professor Flitwick, who said that he traditionally reserves the first day for review of the previous year's material. On that note: who here knows what a charm is?"

Several arms rose into the air, and Marcus chuckled.

"Given that you've all had five years of this class, I'm going to assume that those of you who are not raising your hands simply do not wish to be called upon." He paused. "Professor Flitwick had his own rules, but in my class, in a NEWT-level class that required astonishingly good scores on your exams, I will not accept that any of you are stupid. Furthermore, Charms is a dangerous class, and I will tolerate no student in here who cowers in the face of a professor armed only with a question." Marcus looked around the room at the students, mentally adding some figures. "That's eight points from Hufflepuff and seven points from Gryffindor, one for each student who was unwilling to answer such an easy question." He shook his head, which gave him an opportunity to scan the students, whose faces held a mixture of anger and disappointment. "For future reference, the Ministry of Magic defines a Charm as 'any spell not implicitly intended to be harmful and intended for use outside of a combat situation.'

"A simpler way of putting it is this: if you wouldn't attack someone with it, it's a charm." He paused. "Can anyone tell me what's wrong with what I just said?"

One hand rose quickly into the air. Marcus paused to make sure that no one else knew the answer. Noting the stripe on the raised hand, he nodded. "Ten points from Hufflepuff, and nine from Gryffindor. Once again, all of you should have known the answer, and I suspect almost all of you do." Marcus pointed to the student. "Name and answer, please."

"Hermione Granger, sir. You didn't mention nonverbal spells."

"Quite right, Miss Granger. The word I left out of the Ministry of Magic definition was 'verbal'. Of course, there are several nonverbal varieties of spells. Now, before those stupidest among you who honestly don't know what I'm talking about get your hopes up, I'm not talking about some cool, secret variety of magic that nobody knows about. I'm simply referring to some pretty standard form of magic. You have classes devoted to two of them here: Transfiguration and Potions, as well as, to a certain extent, Runes, which can often be embedded with magic power." He paused. "Of course, there are secret varieties of magic that I am aware of and which I'm sure none of you are, but those varieties have no place either in the Ministry classification nor in this classroom."

Marcus paused briefly. A few students were taking notes, for some reason, so he waited for them to finish, and then indicated a pile of books to his left. "These are school copies of the fifth level of the _Standard Book of Spells_. Unless you have a copy of this book on you, you will find a partner. Each pairing will have one book between them. You will work your way through the spells listed in the final section, beginning on page six hundred twenty-four. When you are confident you can perform a charm correctly, you will indicate it to me by casting the Lighting Charm, _Lumos._ I will check your ability to complete the spell, and then you will move on to the next one."

The students began to find partners, and Marcus sat down in his chair, hoping to rest a few minutes while they found their friends and turned their books. Of course, the first charm in that chapter was a ridiculously easy one, so he would be wandering about, checking on their success almost as soon as they had opened the books. And his suspicion was confirmed when, barely two minutes later, the first wand flickered brightly.

The grey-haired teacher took care not to allow himself to groan as he stood up - his aches were particularly bad today - before proceeding across the room to where the first two students, Granger and a red-haired Gryffindor he strongly suspected was the young Weasley Severus of whom Severus had spoken, had already completed their first spell. He watched with approval as the two demonstrated it, and he nodded. "Five points to Gryffindor for being the first to complete the first charm." They beamed at him, and he smiled back as he turned to wander around the room, smiling and nodding as students demonstrated their spells.

Sixty-four minutes later, Marcus had begun counting the seconds until the end of the class, when he would have a fifteen minute break before the fourth-years came in. He wandered around the room as students finished their last spells. He walked over to the closest lit wand, belonging to a Hufflepuff boy. "You have a spell to show?"

"Err, no, Professor. Actually, we were having trouble with this last spell, and I thought it would help if you could show us how to do it?"

Marcus looked at the boy sharply. How dare he? The boy had no respect - but then, it was his first class, so he should get off lightly. "Five points from Hufflepuff for your cheek."

The boy was defiant in an instant. "That's not fair!"

"Five more, and detention in my office tomorrow afternoon. I could assign a whole week's worth, if you'd like to try?"

To his credit, the boy shut up. The bell rang just then, leaving Marcus standing, fuming, as the students left the room.

"Professor Butler?" Marcus sat at what had quickly become his usual corner in the Professors' Lounge, reading, when a rather squeaky voice disturbed his thoughts. He paused, keeping his head looking toward the book pointedly, and then looked up.

It was the half-gnome, Filius. He smiled, checking the small man for injuries. He was favoring his right leg, and he had a scar on his cheek that Marcus did not remember seeing before, but he looked to be in quite capable shape. "Please, call me Marcus."

"All right. Marcus, then." The Charms Professor paused, and it was obvious that he was trying to find a diplomatic way of saying what he was going to say. "I asked several of my students what they thought of your teaching-" When Marcus' eyes narrowed, Filius interrupted himself. "Minerva asked me to, you understand. She wanted to know what you were like or something."

Marcus nodded resentfully, acknowledging that it was necessary to see how well he taught, but not the method employed. Encouraged by the smile, Filius continued. "There was a very wide range of reactions, frankly. Most of the students didn't like you, but that can be attributed to strictness." Filius grinned at that. "Working in this school, you get used to your students having strict teachers. So I can accept that."

Marcus nodded again, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "And some of my students seemed to rather like you. The smartest ones, and the braver ones did, anyway."

Marcus interrupted. "I do not know what your opinion is, Professor, but I don't tolerate idiots or cowards around high-level magic."

The small professor's eyes hardened, and Marcus reevaluated his initial estimate of his counterpart's ability. "One particular student informed me that he had asked you to demonstrate how to perform a spell - the trickiest one of the day, actually - and not only did you refuse, you took off points and assigned him detention."

"The boy was being cheeky."

"I asked several others to confirm that this had actually happened, and their recollections do not indicate any sort of 'cheek'."

Marcus frowned. "Enough. If you do not trust me to substitute in your place, you may speak to the Headmaster about it. I am sure he will be able to come up with an appropriate solution. If you wish to allow me to continue when you are called away, you will have to trust the decisions I make."

Filius smiled, a tiny hint of viciousness showing in his face. "Then I will have to inform Dumbledore that I would rather you not teach in my class."

Marcus nodded. "Do that." Filius stomped away, and Marcus looked back down at his book, pretending to study while thinking to himself. His hopes of making allies with every Head of House had been dashed. Nevertheless, Filius would make a very poor enemy if he could reconcile Severus and Minerva soon...

A week of classes had passed, and thankfully Marcus had been required to teach for only two days of them. With more luck like this, he'd be able to begin writing of his first drafts before the end of the year. Of course, it needed to be airtight - the book was sure to be controversial when it was released, and Marcus knew that the book needed to be able to withstand the pressure that could be brought to bear using several of the skeletons that had refused, try as he might to exit his closet.

He had managed to help Severus out with a few potions, quickly shoring up into what was going to become a most interesting friendship. Marcus wondered idly at the competing traits of loyalty and selfishness that warred in the Potions Master's mind, but he'd already been through this line of thought several times, and he already knew the answer - Severus was a Slytherin, after all, not a Hufflepuff. Though it might have solved some problems if he had...

As for Minerva...well, that was just as troublesome, if in a different way. Though Marcus had a promising lead regarding Minerva and firewhiskey, the plan 'get her drunk and hope everything works out' sounded like it needed more work. And every attempt he had made so far to crack her severe exterior had been met by that cold exterior that said 'I know what you're trying to do.'

And finally, there was Sprout. The old, overweight Herbology Professor presented a completely different conundrum from that of the other Heads of Houses. She had seemed friendly enough, and more than willing to make friends, and Marcus suspected that this was precisely the problem. As hard as he tried, he could not seem to make himself like her. Even his best impressions of friendliness had felt like crumbling facades, and he'd had to make excuses to leave before they gave his disgust away.

Marcus had long ago decided that the one thing he simply could not deal with was innocence. He could tolerate it in the young, who deserved to have a few years before they were forced to join the real world that everyone else lived in, but Sprout's unfailing innocence revealed a life that was more than sheltered - it was self-isolated from the rest of the world, as though she had looked at the world, disliked what she'd seen, and isolated herself from as much of the negative part as possible. Marcus shook his head at the thought. Evil was to be confronted, not to be ignored. The part that made the least sense was how other people showered her with compliments. Every time they called her a good person, Marcus shuddered. A good person would take pain themselves to relieve it from others. Instead, Sprout had done the exact opposite, and because she'd managed to remain happy and carefree, the other teachers all trusted her. He shook his head a second time. Obviously finding friends among the Heads of Houses had been a failure.

But there were promising leads from the rest of the teachers. Bill, as he'd insisted on being called, was rather more studious and intelligent than his looks indicated, and could prove to be a good friend. Albernicus - who refused, under any circumstances, to be called Al - had proven to be an excellent friend. Veronica Vector, the Professor who taught that math course with the weird name, and Alexis, who taught Ancient Runes, were both intelligent, if over-bookish, people, and if Marcus had not become exactly friends with them yet, there was certainly a likelihood of there being one soon. As for Rubeus - well, he was kind, courageous, and strong, but he lacked the central quality - intelligence - that Marcus prized most. Certainly, it would be good to have Rubeus on his side, but a friendship with him would be impossible.

Sybil, on the other hand...of the four traits he had just used for Rubeus, Sybil had none. Despite her frequent predictions of doom, she seemed just as oblivious to the problems of the real world as Sprout, and had reacted the same way, to a greater extent. She had become a virtual hermit, coming out only to perform a function that only the most cynical would call teaching. In fact, it seemed she had a rather parasitic relationship with Hogwarts, taking Hogwarts wages in exchange for basically zero contribution back to the school. There was some secret there, something that made it worthwhile for the Headmaster to keep her around. Marcus scratched his cheek idly and decided not to become too involved in the deep layers of this structure. Better if he just added another structure, a stronger one, on top of it. A structure he had already started to build.

There were only three minutes until lunch ended. Potter would be here soon.


	4. The Nightly Prayer

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. Quite a bit of what you don't recognize does not belong to me either.**

**Chapter 4: The Nightly Prayer**

The Boy-Who-Lived had a striking scar in the middle of his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt, and piercing emerald green eyes. These were the only things about him that seemed particularly striking or piercing. He wore robes that, if they were slightly above the median for all wizards, were far below it for the wealthy, pureblood lines, and had he lacked those particularly striking traits he could have passed for a child of middle class wizards. He towered over those his own age, standing at almost two meters in height, but for that height he was rather underweight, and even when he was not wearing robes he chose the most baggy clothes to hide that fact. His hair required no haircuts, as it stayed the same length at all times; even shaving the hair only altered the length for a few hours. When he woke up, he dressed, packed his schoolwork, and left for breakfast without a word. When he ate, he sat at an edge of the long Gryffindor table, while his classmates sat away from him, ignoring him but for the occasional dark look. His teachers had quickly become accustomed to his new determined, silent concentration during class. His wand was holly, eleven inches, with a phoenix feather core. When his peers stayed up late nights laughing and conversing, he recited a list, a prayer to a cold, merciless God and the dark Earth he had created. His name was Harry Potter

Harry cautiously knocked on the office door. This seemed to be the correct office, but it was along a row of spare rooms, and he certainly did not want to be made a fool out of when Butler saw him knocking on the wrong door. He was rewarded by a slightly muffled "enter" from within, which he obeyed quickly. He surveyed the room from just inside it, noting that while it was not dark, like Snape's office and classroom, it did not seem properly lit. There was a fireplace in one corner, and Harry found himself wondering for a moment how the smoke got outside, before remembering the word that applied to most of those Hogwarts peculiarities: _magic_.

"Ah, Mister Potter." His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Professor Butler, coming from behind the rather messy desk by one edge of the wall. Butler cleared a stack of books off of the desk and turned back to Harry. "Sit down, would you?" Harry cautiously sat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk, wondering what punishment was in store for him now. "Now then. First of all, I really do not have much work available for you to do. Ordinarily, I would have assigned you to Mister Filch, Professor Snape, or Professor Hagrid, who likely always seem to have some chore for the wayward student." Butler smiled, barely, and Harry wondered if he had missed a joke. "In any case, today I simply wanted to have a conversation with you. You may want to be comfortable, Potter. This detention is an hour and a half long."

Harry leaned backward into his chair. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

Butler grinned. "You should have more respect for your teachers, Potter. But the question is apt, isn't it?"

"Err...I thought so." When Butler looked at him expectantly, he realized his mistake. "Sir."

"Right. Right now I want to know what you said to your friends that made them so..." Marcus paused, seemed to be searching for the right word, then continued "unfriendly."

Harry's eyes widened. This man was new this year, had even been late to the Welcoming Feast. How much could he know? "Nothing, sir."

"One point from Gryffindor for being such an awful liar. Try again, please."

And the eyes widened even further. "Err...It had been Harry's experience in the past that honesty was not exactly the best policy, and he had become rather accomplished as a liar; unless Butler had evidence to the contrary, he almost certainly would have believed him. Nevertheless... "I called Ginny a slut."

A long pause. "Ginny?"

"Ah...Ginny Weasley. A fifth-year Gryffindor."

"I think I remember her. Looked like she hadn't gotten any sleep the night before because she'd been too busy crying." Harry cringed at that, but forced himself to relax. It had been necessary, after all. "And had a magnificent temper. Not one to cry at just any insult." Butler paused, his eyes narrowed. "Nor at one directed from just anyone."

"So?"

"First, another point from Gryffindor for refusing to completely answer a teacher's question." Harry supposed briefly that he should have been unsurprised by the professor's intelligence, but he was nevertheless. "Second, would you care to try again?"

Harry wondered briefly at that, thought for a second about telling him, actually, but what was he supposed to say? 'I told her that once I had thought I fancied her but now that she'd dirtied herself on Corner and Thomas and those other guys she was no better than a slut, and I hated her, and she should try selling herself on the street like every other whore, because the only thing she still had was her looks, how she was the only person he knew who ever had a trace of beauty, and though she'd squandered it he knew some people would surely pay for it anyway, so maybe she could be the first member of her family to finally bring in a decent income'? But he could not explain it like that. Especially not to this teacher, who he had spoken with once, briefly, who knew nothing about him, who did not - could not - understand why he had done it, or how he had planned what he would have to say in the early days of August, going over the enunciation of 'some people' so it was so obvious that he meant the Crabbes and the Goyles and the Slytherins in the world; nor could this old substitute understand how he had cried as he designed the jibe at the Weasley poverty or how it had taken him three days to convince himself to use the words that said, just under the service, that Hermione was ugly, had never looked good at all, had appreciated sadly the irony that he had spent five years earning these friends' - no, these acquaintances' trust, and now he was using that to hurt them.

But it was a necessary hurt. 'If I must break a man's legs to prevent him from running into traffic, then I will break his legs and I will not be sorry,' he had told himself. It made perfect sense. Then why was he so sorry?

He was pulled out of his reverie by Butler speaking. "I gather that you would not care to, then?"

He shook his head. With his luck, any further lies would just lose Gryffindor more points.

Butler nodded as if he had expected it. "Very well. Detention with me this time next week."

Harry stood up. "I'll be there then."

"I did not give you permission to leave." Butler's voice was suddenly sharp. "I'm not done with you yet."

Harry paused, glared, almost left, finally sat down. "Yes?"

"I believe that 'sir' or 'professor' is an appropriate way to address the teacher. But I'll let it go this time." Butler leaned forward in his chair. "Potter, I didn't know your parents."

"Err..."

"But I knew of your parents, Potter." He smiled, then, the sad shadow of a smile that indicated remembrance of a happy time now past, and he continued in that vein: "Everyone knew of your parents." He paused again, frowning. "Frankly, Harry, your parents would never have been on any list of the most powerful wizards alive. Don't get me wrong - they weren't bad - but they were not the most powerful. But I would bet every single person in the old Order of the Phoenix cried when your parents died, even though it happened on the same day He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated."

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. Dumbledore had said something about his parents being great wizards, but his own experience with Snape's Pensieve had not suggested that his father was a great man. "But-"

Butler interrupted him _again_, saying "Of course, I can't be sure. I don't know every member of the Order, and I haven't talked to any of those I did know." He paused - he liked pausing, Harry observed - probably for effect. "But I know they were all good people, basically. And any good person would weep at the death of such people."

"Sir, if you're trying to make me-"

"God knows you already feel guilty enough as it is. That's part of your problem, but we'll get to it later, maybe."

"Then -"

"What I'm trying to tell you, Potter, is that nothing you have ever done in your life would have made your parents as ashamed of you as what you said to Miss Weasley."

Silence. Butler watched Harry sharply as he absorbed it. He hit upon an idea, dismissed it immediately, returned to it, thought about it, considered it from rational and irrational standpoints, finished, spoke: "So?"

To Harry's surprise the Professor broke into an almost wild grin. "Bravo, Potter!" He laughed briefly. "Well done." His grin faded quickly. "I hadn't expected… never mind. In any case, it's a fair question. You didn't know your parents. Why should it matter to you what they think of you?"

Harry waited. He wanted the question answered, not repeated.

"Here it is. Perception is everything" Butler smiled. "I've done my homework on you, Potter. You have a temper about as hot as a volcano." Harry bristled, but the grey-haired man continued. "And anyone who knows that and is capable of discerning a lie will know that what you told Miss Weasley was out of character. Naturally they will wonder why, and they will stumble upon the same childish excuse for a reason that I have."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Which is?"

"You think that anyone you get close to will die."

"IT'S NOT AN EXCUSE! IT'S TRUE! THEY ALL DIE!" Harry exploded. "MY PARENTS AND SIRIUS AND CEDRIC AND-"

"That is enough, Potter. Your detention is over. I had hoped - no, I suppose it was never quite enough to be called a hope. Remember to be back here next week."

----

_Creak, creak_ went the old wood floor, and _Fweeeeeee_ went the wind through the small, open windows, and the pages, shuffling, went _fss fss fss fss_ in their soft, shuffling way. Together, the extemporaneous instruments formed the kind of music that drives most people insane and made the third-floor library perfect for a man like the grey-haired owner of the residence who was, at present, sitting at the small desk on the edge of the desk flipping back and forth through _Muggle Mythology v. Magic and Magical Theory, Volume III: Elves, Fey, and House-Elves_. Finally he reached the page he was interested in and began reading.

After one hour, forty-seven minutes of reading, re-reading, and annotating a section of thirty-eight pages and was starting to write excitedly in another book when he heard a loud crack and a brief shriek of "Ouch!" He grinned, recognizing the voice, and hurried down two flights of stairs toward the front door of the American Butler residence. He paused on the last step, brushing his hair back, allowing his features to settle back into their reserved position, and walked to the door.

Opening it, he saw a young nun standing out in the road, rubbing the back of her head. He smiled toothlessly and waited for her to see him. When she did, he spoke: "Sister Jean! So good to see you." She smiled in return and hurried to the door.

"Marcus. Good to see you're here. May I come in?" He nodded and moved to the side to allow her in. He directed her back to the too-clean kitchen and grinned as she sat down. Suddenly he started to chuckle. The nun looked at him strangely until he finished and explained himself. "Tell me you haven't actually joined a convent, please."

"Oh." She grinned in return. "No, no. This is just a useful cover. You want help with that?" She redirected, seeing that he was transferring ingredients to a counter, but he shook his head.

"No, thanks."

She looked mournful. "I suppose I'd just break something anyway."

"You always fix far more than you break, Tonks."

The nun-who-was-not-a-nun shook her head patiently, too modestly. "Marcus-"

"You know, I saw through that deception years ago." Marcus changed the subject, and he saw Tonks narrow her eyes for a moment and then give in to the change in topic.

"Deception?"

"Yes, deception. The one where you pretend to be clumsy."

"Damn. How'd you find out?"

"A magician doesn't reveal his tricks."

"You're not-"

"And neither do I."

She frowned. "Fine. Err..."

"Oh, right. My apologies. I should have told you about the Anti-Apparition wards that you ran into trying to apparate in here so rudely."

"You never cared before!"

"Indeed, I never did. I was teasing you, Tonks. Well, I was dong my best. I don't really have the face for it."

"No you don't. But you called for a reason, didn't you?"

"Ah, yes. I have a job for you."

"Well, of course I'll do it, Marcus, but-

"I know about your assignment in Belgium. I assure you, it won't be a problem."

"Then what..."

"I'm very sorry to do this to you, but, well, I need to know what the Order of the Phoenix is up to."

Tonks sucked in her breath. She frowned instead of answering for a few seconds. "Marcus, I'll report on them to you if that's what you want, but..." she paused, "tell me this is for a good purpose."

"It is."

"What?"

"I..." He trailed off and Tonks almost scowled at him. "Look. I'm not sure yet. But it's about Potter, okay? I'm worried about him."

The nun-who-wasn't softened her expression immediately. "You know Dumbledore would never do anything to-"

"Of course he wouldn't. That's a totally separate problem. I'm just worried."

She nodded. "Of course, then. Actually, he hasn't called a meeting in a long time. Things are pretty quiet now. We think that _he_'s still recovering and planning now that he's out in the open."

"All right. Keep me informed, please."

"Of course." She stood. "If that was all..."

Marcus looked affronted. "But I just finished making the tea!"

Tonks frowned. "I do have to get back to Belgium. I might be missed."

The old professor adopted a posture of mock relief. "Oh, yes. Well, earlier you told me you thought you had fallen in love with someone. Well, it's been several months now. Was it some crush?"

"What does this-"

"Was it?"

She sighed. "No."

"Good, good."

"I hate it when you do that."

"I know. In any case, the Minister, Miss Bones, and the Headmaster have been in discussions recently about a Ministry security presence in Hogwarts-" Tonks snorted, and he nodded. "Yes, it is total bullshit." He smiled and handed her a mug of tea. "Watch it. It's hot.. In any case, I pulled some strings in the Ministry, and you've been reassigned to the Hogwarts detail. Of course, there will be no-" He was cut off again as Tonks arms closed around him somewhat too forcefully, knocking his breath from him. He smiled awkwardly and detached himself. "As I was saying, there'll be no need for a cover, given that it's an official Ministry position..."

The nun-who-wasn't's habit suddenly flashed and changed into the official robes of that job with too many vowels, and her conservative brown hair became a particularly energetic spiked green almost certainly calculated to ruin his cultivated image of dignity, but he did not bother to argue with her about her appearance for the forty-third time. Instead he looked at a spot on the floor. "You dropped your tea."

She looked down suddenly. "Oh, sorry. I'll clean it up."

"No, no. I'm the host."

The bright-haired witch shook her head, amused. "Good to see you're acting exactly like yourself, you self-sacrificing bastard." She pulled out a wand and muttered a quick charm, making the remains disappear.

"I said I would handle it."

"And I didn't care." She shrugged. "How do you do that, anyway?"

"Do what?"

"What you do. You did it to me, and now you're doing it to Harry. You give someone a kick in the arse, and they end up loyal to me for the rest of their life."

"I never intended for that to happen."

"Fine. But you have this 'fixing people' thing, and somehow nobody ever gets angry that you're totally changing their life."

"If you say so. But the last thing I want is for Harry to be loyal to me."

"Really?"

"Really. Harry can be a great person if he grows up." He paused and his expression turned grim. "You know as well as I do that having me near him will only hurt him."

"That's nonsense, Marcus. But I've tried to convince you of that before, too."

"Yes you have. And you've failed. I heard Bones wanted to see you, by the way. You might want to get going."

"But I haven't even had any tea!"

"If you insist on waiting around, fine. But if you're going to stay, you have to read over my latest page of _Meditations_." Marcus almost grinned; he'd tried to make her read his writings before, and she'd told him plainly that nobody who wasn't a nerd would be interested in his books. Which explained her horrified expression.

"All right, all right. I'm going."

---

Harry Potter lay in his bed, and felt the familiar first tingles of sleep in his head. He stubbornly began his nightly prayer. "James Potter. Lily Potter. Quirenius Quirrel. Cedric Diggory. Bartemius Crouch, Junior. Sirius Black." He paused, thinking back to the summer before, of being woken up by the insistent brothers, of being told to flee, refusing, seeing them die. "Otto Bagman. Ludovic Bagman."

A/N: Apologies for taking so much time. I went on vacation and when I got back I had totally lost the thread of the chapter. That should also go toward explaining why so much of the chapter sucks so much. Sorry.


	5. Detention

A\N: Most of the author's note stuff is going to happen at the bottom where people don't have to read through it, but there are two very important notes here. First, I'm very happy to announce that I got my second(as in two) review after last chapter. Yay! Hint. Hint. Second, the profanity definitely starts in this chapter. If you prefer to read only sanitized fics, then you'll be wanting not to read any more of this story. Sorry.

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. Only a little of the rest does either.

**Chapter 5: Detention**

A Saturday, to the ordinary student, is a great day. A day to be spent relaxing, avoiding schoolwork and relaxing under the shade of a tree or by a fire. A Saturday, to the ordinary student, is not a day to be marred by serving a detention with a teacher, which was precisely the reason that most of the Hogwarts teachers had decided to make wayward students serve their detentions on that precise day.

Which was why Harry Potter was hurrying out of his second detention of the day, rushing not to be late to his third - and, thankfully, final. His new, sullen demeanor and occasional bursts of anger had earned him punishment from Professors McGonagall and Binns - Binns, for Merlin's sake, had actually begun asking questions in class, and , as Murphy's own luck would have it, had asked him the very first one. The fact that he, like everyone else in the class, had been somewhere between half and three-quarters asleep at the time had not helped his answer had been unfortunately monosyllabic.

And detention for Binns was bloody boring.

Unlike detention with Professor Butler - which he had been looking forward to for the last hour, if only because it would be interesting... and now here he was, standing outside the door, waiting. The door was locked - briefly, he considered unlocking the door magically and checking the room before he realized just how many detentions getting caught would earn him and decided instead to wait. And wait.

Harry was about to leave about twenty minutes after the detention had been supposed to start when the door opened, revealing Professor Butler, looking as dignified and stately as ever, though their was a vaguely apologetic look on his face.

"Potter. I'm very sorry I'm late. I was just speaking with one of my _friends-" _Harry couldn't help but notice the faint stress put on 'friends'- "and our chat went on a bit longer than I'd expected. Sorry." The professor retreated behind his desk, motioning for Harry to have a seat. "All right. I think we'll start with you. Do you have anything you want to say first?"

Harry took a deep breath, thinking about what he _wanted to say_. 'Sir, with all due respect, I think you're a bloody wanker'; 'Sir, I couldn't help but notice that your head is lodged almost a meter up your arse'; 'Sir, you have no bloody idea what you're talking about, so stop'; and he was about to choke all those answers down when he looked straight at Butler's eyes and saw them twinkling. Fucking twinkling, in the same way Dumbledore's did, in the 'I know exactly what you want to say, Harry, and it's all right that you won't tell me' way that was so aggravating and yet so mollifying. "Are you related to Dumbledore, sir?"

"It's proper to refer to him as Headmaster Dumbledore or Professor Dumbledore, Potter. But I suppose it's a minor infraction."

"But-"

"Yes?"

"Are you related to him?"

"Not that I know of. But then, we both come from old pureblood lines, so I suppose there's a relationship somewhere in there. But no more than you are, really."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I really will start taking points if you don't learn respect, Potter."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Butler's obsession with the proper forms of address was becoming aggravating. "I'm sorry, _sir."_

"The Potters are a very old pureblood line. Though they always were somewhat less restrictive than the other lines were, I'd imagine they still have quite a bit of the Weasleys and the Longbottoms and the Dumbledores in their blood." He smiled a teasing, almost mean smile and continued: "And the Parkinsons and the Flints and the Malfoys too, I should imagine." Harry couldn't resist contorting his face at that, and Butler reacted with a satisfied expression. His expression turned more serious and he seemed to be about to add something when he stopped himself, changed the subject. "Did you have anything else to say?"

Harry shook his head, deciding against saying any of those angry, antagonistic insults that seemed so stupid - though definitely satisfying - just a few seconds after he thought of them, probably because of that infernal twinkling. But Butler just nodded, and his eyes turned serious. "Good. Then we can get back on that subject. As it happens-" Harry rolled his eyes when Marcus rubbed his hands together sarcastically-"that is actually exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.

"You have to know how to deal with people like Lucius Malfoy and Petrus Parkinson or you will get nowhere, Potter."

"Why?"

Butler looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"How is all this family stuff going to help me against Voldemort-"

"Potter." Butler interrupted him. "Names do have power, Potter, no matter what the Headmaster says. There is magic in a name."

Harry shook his head stubbornly. "His name is Voldemort, and it only makes people more afraid to refer to him by some fake name."

Butler stared across the table at him for a moment. "Very well," he finally said. "I doubt I can change your mind." He waited until he seemed to realize that Harry was waiting for him. "Oh, right. Your question." He paused. "I understand completely. It is totally understandable that, being who you are, you would be totally focused on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But you should not - must not make the mistake of believing that he is the only evil in the world." He waved a hand as Harry opened his mouth to speak. "Of course, he is the most evil right now, yes.

"But there are other evils in the world, Potter. There are evils that have become such a part of the world that most live and die without noticing them." Marcus shrugged. "I know people like you, Harry. You get so caught up in one injustice that you miss the ones happening right around you. You have gotten so caught up in fighting _him_ that you've forgotten about all the other problems in the world you claim to be defending.

"Do you actually pay attention in History of Magic, Potter? The Goblins don't run the largest bank in Wizarding England because they want to, they do it because it's the only avenue left to them, Potter. Those axes and those toothless grins are from a culture thousands of years old, one that once spanned all the way from Kamchatka to Gibraltar, and now all that's left is a single clan, the one that was lucky enough to have a skill that fit with the human economy - hoarding money. One clan out of a score survived because it was better than the others at hoarding money. And you read - no, you're told to read the assigned pages on the Goblin Rebellions in the textbook, which tell you all about how the evil goblins tried to upset the natural boundaries of our civilization by maiming and murdering innocents - they feed you this bullshit every day, and when two students in an entire generation questions it that's considered to be a lot."

Butler paused, giving Harry a little time to absorb, wide-eyed, the sudden burst from the aged wizard. When only a few moments had passed, Marcus continued. "You ever heard of elves? I'm not talking about house-elves - they're not actually elves at all. The real elves, you know, tall skinny, pointy ears? No. I didn't think you would have. No one's met one in six hundred years - might as well be extinct, for all the likelihood any human will meet one. In fact, maybe they are extinct. We don't know. And we did it, Potter. The wizards. You don't hear much about it, but when the good wizards like you were busy fighting those wizards who openly used the dark arts, who _claimed_ to be dark wizards, the wizards who never really thought about light and dark but didn't much like elves did so much damage in just a few generations that the elves took their wisdom and their grace and fled.

"You think the bridge trolls came about just to manage the Troll Tolls, Potter? You think their idea of a good time is to spend every night sleeping under a bridge and every day inside a booth putting sickles into slots? You think the gargoyles were created tamed?"

The grey-haired professor sat back for a moment, apparently catching his breath. Harry's anger almost delivered him into a second rage at the Professor, but he realized abruptly that he had never thought about any of that before. He remained seated, stunned; he had begun to notice the injustices two years ago, and he had noticed a few since then, but he had never given it any thought - he had ignored Hermione's House-Elf Freedom thing

"I want you to think about this, Potter. If you're content to destroy the Dark Lord and then fade away, living some life of obscurity or dying on the spot, then you come back here in a few days and you tell me you have considered it and think that saving the world once is enough for you, then I'll believe you. I'll leave you alone. But if you're willing to trust me, Potter, and you're willing to spend your life fighting injustice - and it will be a hard life, believe me - fighting injustice so deeply ingrained in the wizarding culture that only a handful of people recognize it exists at all and you're willing to do it because you're one of two wizards in the world that could-"

"Who's the other?"

"The Headmaster, Potter. But he's already made plain his decision, and I'm sorry to say that his decision was not what I would have liked. As I was saying before you interrupted, come talk to me in a few days. Tell me your answer. We can save the world, you and I."

A/N: I know that this chapter is rather shorter than the others, but I just couldn't ignore that stopping point. I'm probably going to make the other chapters shorter from now on, so as to be able to get them out faster. Sorry.

_Starry: _Butler was created entirely out of his head. I admit that a few of his character traits were adopted from myself, but I liked the idea of the dignified, rich professor. Plus he has certain other character traits that will be _very_ important in the future.


	6. Bors and Bedivere

**Chapter 6: Bors and Bedivere**

Minerva McGonagall was Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, Deputy Headmistress at same, Head of Gryffindor House at same, vice president of Ashborne & Ashborne Corp., Secret-Keeper of four hidden families, and second in the line of leadership of the Order of the Phoenix. She was a tall woman, with black hair that had turned almost entirely grey, green, beady eyes covered by square sunglasses, elegant green robes that should have been far out of the price range of a teacher, and a severe expression that disappeared only in the rarest instances, or when she had too much to drink.

Minerva McGonagall was always second.

The trouble was that it was she could not be jealous, because for the last fifty years she had always been second and Albus Dumbledore had always been first. And it was impossible to be jealous of Albus Dumbledore. So she put up with it, wanting to be first but unwilling to do anything about it.

And so she waited for her turn.

And it was only now that she realized that all her waiting was only moving her backward. She had waited and waited, and been loyal to Albus and done everything he had asked. She had done everything but say "I have given up all of my ambitions for you" - and if he had noticed(which he must have - he was Albus Dumbledore, after all) he had given no indication of it.

And now this. This!

She supposed she should be sad, rather than angry. Severus had his cover blown and had barely escaped with his life. Now he was recuperating from serious injury in the Hospital wing, which had been closed off. And Albus had made it clear that with Severus out of the immediate danger of his position as a spy, he would be replacing her as second in the line of succession in the Order of the Phoenix.

She was friends with the greasy-haired Potions Master, though it was a friendship that was created and maintained far more by the necessity of working that close together than by any actual like.

Severus had done nothing to deserve the Headmaster's trust - in fact, his actions should have kept Albus from trusting him at all - and instead the Headmaster had placed all of his faith in him - not bothering to try to get another spy in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's inner circle, nor ever bothering, in all the time that she had been a part of the Order, to get so much as corroboration for his information - and when it had been false information, doubtlessly fed to him by a suspicious Death Eater, Albus had only shaken his head and said 'It can't be helped' and gone right along with his day.

Of course, she would have tolerated - she would most certainly not have liked, but she would have tolerated - if he had just meant putting Severus in as second at the Order. But of course it meant so much more. She knew - after decades spent next to Albus, she could tell the implications - it meant that the Potions Master would succeed Albus in Hogwarts, too, and (though it meant nothing) as president of Ashborne and Ashborne.

Which meant that all of her efforts - everything that had happened after she had gotten the job as Transfiguration Professor - had been nothing. Maybe it was selfish, but she wanted to be written about in the future. She wanted a radio piece about her life on the day she died. She wanted to be remembered by someone who had never known her.

But her hopes had been dashed. She would never have that now. Now she would, at best, be a Sir Bedivere or Sir Bors to Albus's Arthur and Harry's Launcelot. She remembered suddenly that Bedivere and Bors had been on opposite sides in the war between the two - that Bors, who alone had seen the holy grail and lived to speak of it, had supported Launcelot and Bedivere had been Arthur's most faithful companion.

Of course this was unlikely. Minerva was not a knight, and neither harry nor Albus seemed to be willing to hate each other - though she really had no idea what Harry thought now. Maybe he would...would she be Bedivere or Bors?

Two days ago there would have been no contest. She would have been Sir Gawain for Albus, well-known but not famous, but he had taken that from her, with no justification. So now she was forced to confront, at least in her head, the man who had entranced all of Britain with his charm and mad brilliance, and be forced to confront the possibility that the Headmaster's madness had finally started outweighing his brilliance - the other possibility, that he had chosen Severus over herself out of an illogical bias, was too unlike the Albus she knew, and too contrary to what she could understand, for her even to make an attempt at considering... but he was no longer rewarding the people who deserved it nor punishing - or even seeing the need for punishing - those who deserved that.

She looked up as the door to the staff lounge opened. She nodded wearily to Butler, who had caused the room's shadows to lengthen noticeably when he'd walked in. He only looked at her sadly in response. His eyes looked unusually sunken, his face pale, his lips drawn into a small circle. His posture looked like it had abandoned him. She wondered briefly what had happened that made him look like that, wondered if she looked similar.

Severus would know, she knew. She would have to consult with him as soon as Poppy stopped barring the hospital wing. The Potions Master would be able to separate her problem from his, somehow, and give her real advice. Severus would know. She hurried out of the lounge. She had to convince Poppy to let her see him.

The change had happened quickly. Ron had had no idea what to do about it, which had been evident when he had responded the way he always responded to situations like that - with a sudden explosion of temper and then an undisguised, just-under-the-surface rage that he would inevitably hold until he got tired of being angry forever.

But that would probably involve her making some sort of apology, and if there was one thing she was better than Ron at(and she was better than Ron at quite a few things, mind you) it was being stubborn - especially when, as in this particular instance, she was right.

It was over, she knew. Though Ron and Hermione refused to admit it, this was the end of what the teachers had called the _Golden Trio_(her mind drew a non sequitur to a reference Snape had made to something called pyrite in reference to the three, but she squashed it quickly) for good. Hermione - Ron hadn't said anything, of course, because he refused to talk to her - had told her that it would be all right, that Harry would come around in a few days and everything would be just like it had been.

When a few days had passed, she had started saying "just another week, you'll see". Two weeks had passed since that. Ginny Weasley had not even bothered to go back and ask her when a week had passed. She had not bothered to talk to Hermione in two weeks. She had not bothered to speak in two days. Yesterday, Professor Binns had called on her during class. And she knew her classmates thought that what had happened next was even weirder than Binns calling on a student for an answer. She had not replied. She had stared at him, challengingly. He had looked back at her, at first questioningly, and then he seemed to actually look at her, and maybe even recognize her, and he had nodded and moved on as if she had given an answer.

She had already had pale skin, but now it looked even paler - that _seven_ magic again, she suspected idly. Her hair, on the other hand, had been blackened with dye rather than magic, and though McGonagall had shown an interest in why several days ago, a few cursory words and two or three icy stares had left McGonagall sighing and dropping it very quickly.

Everything had lost its brilliance since Harry had changed.

That was the only way she knew to explain it. Everything was darker now, as if the figurative rose-tinted glasses had finally been taken off her face, as if, she thought on some days, Helios had replaced the sun with a slab of sandstone. Now there was a metaphor that needed work, Ginny thought grimly. She even botched up being depressed.

"Ms. Weasley?"

Ginny looked up. It was that new teacher...Butler. He had replaced Flitwick at the beginning of the year, and he had been teaching Potions the past week. He looked oddly defeated, even...purposeless? That seemed appropriate. But she felt no sympathy for him. She was sure that his pain would disappear soon - he felt nothing, she was sure, that she had not felt as well. She raised her eyebrows.

"Ms. Weasley, I have something that could be very important to all of us to tell you."

She kept her eyebrows raised. She would not be fooled that easily.

"Listen to me, Weasley. I mean what I say." He paused, thought. "He didn't mean what he said. He _does _care, Ms. Weasley. He said what he said _because_ he cares."

She said nothing. She knew who he was talking about, obviously - he was talking about Harry - but he was lying. Or just wrong. The latter was more likely. But then, he was a first-year teacher at Hogwarts. If precedent held true, he would be either incompetent or evil. Which meant that it was just more likely he was..either a liar or an idiot. Great.

"Listen! Your family has dedicated itself to a cause for centuries. If you have any care for that history, for that cause, at all...listen. Please. You must understand what it's like to feel horribly guilty for something that isn't your fault. He feels the same way. Remember that." Suddenly, the old teacher straightened up and smiled. "If my memory of your schedule is correct, you're going to be late for Charms."

He was wrong, she thought as she left.

She was late for Transfiguration.

A/N: For this work, I have only a basic idea of what events will occur at what point, and those thoughts are much thicker for the end of the year than the beginning of the year. The whole depressed/goth Ginny idea came to me the day before I started writing that scene, and what's happening between Minerva and Severus and Albus the day before that. At the same time, I have events that need to happen at specified points in time, and require a certain amount of development before that, which means I kind of have to be progressing slowly through the year - which means I can't get to those end of the year events. Which means that, yes, I have to work to get out each chapter. In any case, I think that many of my ideas recently have been pretty good ones, so...whatever.

Review, please. Tell me what's wrong with my writing so I can make it better!


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